


If I Had My Way, I'd Tear the Building Down

by Girl_in_Red_Crossing



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt is high af, Kidnapped Geralt, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:55:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23380537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Girl_in_Red_Crossing/pseuds/Girl_in_Red_Crossing
Summary: Jaskier rescues Geralt from a villain who commits the ultimate sin:he cuts Geralt's hair.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 212
Kudos: 2406





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [If I Had My Way, I'd Tear the Building Down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24513676) by [great_green_dragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/great_green_dragon/pseuds/great_green_dragon)



> For a prompt from an anonymous user on Tumblr: Prompt for protective jaskier? Forgive me but im about get whumpy on you - geralt captured by some asshole noble who cuts his hair in a display of power - jaskier notices a man in a pub with a plait of white hair hanging from his belt, bragging about the beast he has subdued - jaskier loses his shit and of course rescues his witcher
> 
> This ended up getting long, so I'm moving it from my ficlet collection to a stand-alone. Part 2 will be up soon!
> 
> Title from the Blind Willie Johnson song (yes, it's a gratuitous Samson and Delilah reference).

Walking into a tavern where he knew he’d be welcome was one of the great joys of Jaskier’s life, even more so when the wind was howling and blew him inside in a shower of fallen leaves and laughter. He stumbled into the Hare and Swan with a grin on his face and his arms stretched wide. Immediately the man behind the bar returned the gesture and scurried around the counter to clasp Jaskier’s shoulders with thick hands and kiss both of his cheeks.

“Master Jaskier! It has been too long!”

“It absolutely has, Edouard,” Jaskier agreed as the large man herded him to a bar stool. “You and the family are well?”

“All well, all well,” Edouard assured him as, gods bless the man, he drew a pint of his deliciously home-brewed ale. “You will play for us, yes?”

“Of course!”

Jaskier pulled out his coin pouch and counted out enough for several nights’ stay complete with food and drink for two. He slid it across the bar as Eduoard set down the ale, and the barkeep hissed at him in disapproval.

“Has your mind grown soft? Your coin is no good here!”

After easing his thirst with a long pull from the tankard, Jaskier sighed in satisfaction. “Eduoard, you have always been kind to me even when the road was not, so let me begin to repay my debt. Besides, it won’t just be me staying.”

“A young lady?” Edouard asked with a rakish tilt to his bushy eyebrows. After a moment’s hesitation, he scooped Jaskier’s coins into his hand.

Jaskier laughed. “Hardly. Do you remember the friend I brought here last time?” He held a hand above his shoulder. “About yay high, white hair, sour expression like he’s never taken a decent shit in his life?”

To his surprise, Eduoard’s jolly smile faded. “Yes. Yes, I remember.”

“Is there a problem?” Jaskier asked.

“Not from me, my friend, but local opinion has shifted of late.” Edouard leaned his arms on the bar and lowered his voice. “Our beloved mayor, gods rest his soul, departed this life last winter, and the baron appointed his nephew to fill the space. He is the righteous sort who has opinions on those he deems unnatural. He won’t take kindly to your friend’s presence. And you,” Eduoard added with a finger in Jaskier’s face, “must watch what you sing.”

Jaskier hummed his agreement with a frown, drumming his fingertips on the bar. “I’m glad you told me.” He drained the rest of his ale and nodded his thanks when Eduoard handed him the key to a room upstairs. “Would you have a word with your stableboy? Ask him to alert me when my friend arrives? We’ll keep our heads down. I wouldn’t want to bring any trouble to you and yours.”

Eduoard waved away his concern. “I brew the best beer for miles around. Men forgive much from the one who pours their drinks.”

“True. Make sure to keep it flowing when I play tonight,” Jaskier said as he headed for the stairs.

“I will indeed!”

The crowd in the tavern that night still received a rousing performance despite the fact that Jaskier limited his repertoire to songs not mentioning Witchers. To his relief, no one requested any. Either they were all aware that no good would come of it, or they didn’t recognize him. It had been quite some time since he’d traveled this part of the continent.

When he paused to get himself a drink, he was met with wild applause, and he responded with a deep bow and a grin. Strolling to the bar, he noticed the tight edge of Edouard’s smile. As the man drew Jaskier a pint of ale, his eyes darted toward a figure sitting at the bar, dressed in black. The town’s crest was blazoned across his right shoulder in tasteful embroidery.

“Thank you, my friend!” Jaskier said as Edouard slid him his drink, and he nodded to show he understood.

“It’s on me, Edouard,” a smooth voice interjected. The man in black smiled at Jaskier. He was admittedly handsome, tall, blond, with clear skin and a neatly trimmed beard. “You play well, master bard. Oxenfurt trained, I’d say?”

“You’re correct,” Jaskier replied. He put on his most winning smile and tilted his head to let his hair fall gracefully across his forehead. No harm in softening the man up; it wouldn’t be the first time Jaskier’s charm had eased the way for Geralt. “Did you study there yourself?”

The man’s chuckle flowed like honey. “No, but I have a great appreciation for the liberal arts.”

“Then this town is fortunate to have your patronage,” Jaskier said, raising his tankard.

“Will you play more?” the man asked.

“Naturally. I would be a poor example of my fine education if I stopped so early.”

“Then allow me to cover your drinks for the rest of the evening.”

The man pulled a coin purse off his belt and set it on the bar to withdraw the payment. The purse itself was unremarkable leather, but instead of a simple lace holding it closed, it was tied with a thick braid of white hair.

A chill swept through Jaskier, like his bones had been hollowed out and filled with ice. His chest constricted around his suddenly pounding heart, and he struggled to take his next breath. Because he knew that hair, knew how it looked wet, dry, and covered in all manner of filth, knew how it felt between his fingers.

_Oh, gods. Geralt._

“Are you all right, master bard?” The shitstain masquerading as a man was staring at him oddly, and Jaskier felt a wave of nausea that he had thought for one moment that the man was handsome.

“Yes,” Jaskier answered, and only years of traipsing through the intrigues and indiscretions of various courts kept his voice steady. “I was just admiring your purse. Horsehair, is it?”

The man chuckled again, and Jaskier wanted to cut out his tongue. “Something like that. A beast that I have struggled to break. I fear I may have to geld him next.”

_You first._

“Poor beastie,” Jaskier murmured.

“Believe me, he has it coming.” The man handed his coin to Edouard and then slipped from his stool. “I’m afraid I must return to the manor. Edouard, your fine establishment does you credit as always.”

“Thank you, master mayor,” Edouard responded with a quick glance to Jaskier.

“Master bard.” The man nodded in Jaskier’s direction, and Jaskier narrowly resisted the temptation to seize handfuls of blond hair and crash his knee into the man’s face.

“Master mayor.”

The moment the door had closed behind the bastard, Jaskier was handing his lute over the bar and into Edouard’s capable hands. “Watch that for me, would you?”

“Where are you going?” Edouard asked with a worried frown.

“I have an engagement at the mayor’s manor.”


	2. Julian Alfred Pankratz, Man of Action

The manor house topped a fine prospect with a long dirt drive wide enough for two wagons to pass side by side and lined with tasteful trees that marched in precise rows. Torches kept the exterior well lit, but a smudge of darkness loomed beyond the house, a bit of wilderness suitable for hunting, Jaskier guessed. A little brook separated the public road from the private drive, a sort of natural moat that bent around the north side of the manor. In front of the drive, it was crossed by a pretty bridge, but as it curved, the banks cut deeper. Anyone who followed it closely would likely come near to the back of the house without being seen.

They would also of course end up soaked to the waist and caked in mud.

Jaskier sighed as he slid and shuffled his way down the slope to splash into the icy water. He stifled a yelp and focused on not slipping on the slippery stones instead of the freezing water sloshing around his genitals.

“This would be a terrible ballad,” he murmured to himself. “‘Oh, brave Jaskier, how were you wounded in the rescue of your lover? A dagger? A sword?’ ‘No! I lost my cock to frostbite.’ Alas for poor Geralt of Rivia! Saved from a certain death only to waste away from mourning the phallus that brought him to such heights of pleasure.”

He peeked up over the side of the grassy bank from time to time, but no guards patrolled the lawn. He supposed it wasn’t that surprising given that, nice as the house was, it was only the seat of a small town’s mayor.

“Probably could have walked right through the bloody front door,” he mumbled.

Fortunately for his frozen nethers, the grounds weren’t particularly large either. Behind the main house was a small garden, a few outbuildings, and a large barn attached to… ah, the stable! Jaskier clambered up the bank and padded to the horse paddocks, chanting a whispered litany of “please, please, please” beneath his breath. When he reached the first stall and a familiar nicker greeted him, he pumped his fist in victory.

He quickly let himself into the stall and threw his arms around Roach’s neck. She snuffled at his shoulder in greeting.

“Darling girl,” Jaskier whispered. “What’s become of your master this time, hmm?”

Barely any light filtered into the stall, so he shuffled through the hay with arms outstretched. The gods smiled on him further, and he found not only Roach’s saddle but Geralt’s saddlebags tucked up in one corner. He dug through the clothing pack until he found a pair of Geralt’s trousers. After an experimental sniff, he decided they hadn’t been coated in anything’s innards that recently, and he quickly peeled off his wet clothing and replaced it with his lover’s. They were a bit long in the leg and loose in the arse, but they were dry and warm, and that was all his bits cared about at the moment.

Next he hauled the saddle onto Roach’s back. He fumbled some with the cinch and all her tack in the dark, but for once, she stayed patient and still and didn’t even try to puff up her gut for the extra wiggle room. Jaskier showered her with praise and numerous kisses as he loaded up the rest of Geralt’s gear.

Once Roach was ready, Jaskier, crouched over and keeping to the shadows, darted out of the stall and to the stable’s archway. The only door on the back of the house lined up with a little path from the garden, likely the kitchen. All of the windows were dark. As he turned back to get Roach, a little sack of horseshoe nails caught his eye. He snatched up two of them and shoved them in his pocket.

No one appeared to challenge him as he led Roach up the path to the kitchen door. He tried the handle: locked. Kneeling on the cold ground, he pulled out the nails and jiggled them into the keyhole.

“Gods, I haven’t done this in years,” he whispered to Roach as he twisted the nails to try and release the lock. Roach huffed at him, and he shook his head. “Don’t judge me for my misspent youth. How else was I to get the good brandy from the chancellor’s lounge?”

Just as his fingertips were going slightly numb from the cold metal and chill air, the lock gave way with a soft click. He pocketed the nails again and stroked a hand down Roach’s nose.

“Wait here,” he told her. “I’ll bring him out.”

The kitchen did in fact lay behind the door, its fire banked, waiting to be poked to life by the cook in the hour before sunrise. A sleepy old dog with a gray-shot muzzle looked up from his place on the hearth, but he didn’t even whuff as Jaskier approached and only closed his eyes in pleasure when Jaskier gave him a scratch behind the ear. At the far end of the kitchen were two arched doorways, one leading to a formal dining room and the other leading down a flight of darkened stairs.

“Don’t suppose you have any guidance for me?” Jaskier whispered to the dog. He wagged his tail, and Jaskier snorted a laugh before giving him a final pat.

Deciding he might as well start his search from the bottom and work his way up, Jaskier hurried down the stairs and found himself in a short corridor with several wooden doors with tiny barred windows. In front of the one at the end stood a young man--a boy, really--dressed in the mayor’s livery and looking just as surprised to be looking into the eyes of someone else as Jaskier felt. The bard immediately pasted on a wide grin and snuck a stagger into his step. He wagged his finger at the guard as he approached, and the poor boy’s surprise morphed into nervous confusion.

“There you are!” Jaskier slurred. “I knew I’d find you.”

The guard looked at the combination of Jaskier’s fine doublet and obviously borrowed pants and replied with a hesitant “My lord?”

He looked near to panic when Jaskier took his face in both hands and leaned against his forehead. “The mayor served such fine wine at dinner,” Jaskier said, much too loud for the narrow space between them. “I just knew his cellar would be guarded.”

He leaned back and licked his lips. “Thought I’d nip a bottle for the night. Care to join me?” he added with a wink.

The boy’s face was bright red. Under other circumstances, Jaskier would have found him adorable. “M-my lord,” he stammered, “this isn’t the wine cellar.”

“It’s not?” Jaskier swung his head to the narrow window in the door. “Well, in that case…”

Without turning back, he slammed the heel of his boot on the guard’s instep. When the boy bent over in sudden pain, Jaskier swung his elbow up, catching him between the eyes with the hardest part of the bone. The guard staggered back, smacked the back of his head against the stone wall, and crumpled to the ground with a soft, little whimper.

“I’m so sorry, friend. It’s not your fault your boss is a bastard,” Jaskier whispered as he dug a keyring from the boy’s pocket. Next he checked that the boy wasn’t bleeding and that he had a calm and steady pulse. Poor fool hadn’t even reached for his sword; he was much too tender-hearted to be a manor guard. Once Jaskier unlocked the door, he dragged the boy inside and settled him in the corner with a kiss to the forehead.

He shut the door to the corridor behind them and then turned to survey the room. It was small and low and probably had been a cellar at some point. It smelled vaguely of root vegetables.

Or perhaps that was just Geralt.

Jaskier hurried over to the kneeling Witcher. A thick chain had been looped over the rafter above him and held his wrists up by cuffs at each end. His head hung down, and Jaskier felt a sharp prick of fear at how limp his neck was when Jaskier cradled his face.

“Geralt,” he murmured. “Love, look at me.”

Golden eyes fluttered sluggishly open, their pupils mere pinpricks. A huff of air reached Jaskier’s cheek, and he recognized the shape of his name on Geralt’s lips.

He smiled. “Yes, it’s me. What happened, darling?” 

Geralt frowned up at him. “’mbush.”

“They ambushed you?” 

Geralt’s head ducked in an uncoordinated attempt at a nod. “P’son.”

The prick of fear became a stab. “Poison? Not fatal, I hope?” he asked with a wavering chuckle.

Geralt scrunched his brow as though the question merited serious consideration. After an agonizingly long moment, he swung his head side to side. Jaskier nearly collapsed alongside him in relief. He went to brush his hands through Geralt’s hair and let out an affronted gasp at the haphazardly cut locks. No matter how he tried to smooth them, they stuck out in uneven clumps. 

“Gods, it’s even worse than I feared. My poor shorn wolf.”

He quickly found the key for the cuffs and let out a loud “oof” when Geralt, released, fell into his arms. His thighs burned with the effort of pushing them both to their feet, but once upright with an arm thrown over Jaskier’s shoulders, Geralt seemed capable of a slow-moving shuffle.

“That’s it,” Jaskier encouraged. “There’s a good Witcher.”

He paused their slow progress only long enough to lock the door behind them and shove the keys through the little window. The poor guard would wake soon, and at least he’d be able to pass the keys through when someone hopefully checked up on him.

Their forward advance came to a halt at the base of the stairs, which they both looked on with doubt and trepidation.

“You can do it, love.” Jaskier nudged Geralt’s leg with his knee until the man lifted his foot and set it gingerly on the first step. “Come on now. Roach is waiting.”

Geralt’s cloudy visage visibly brightened, and Jaskier could only laugh as his lover clumsily redoubled his efforts to climb the steps.

“Yes, that’s right. The love of your life awaits. You’ll be reunited soon enough.”

They finally made it to the top of the stairs, but just as Jaskier thought the worst was behind them, Geralt suddenly stopped and refused to budge farther. Jaskier looked up at him with concern and was surprised at the level of focus Geralt had managed to drag into his gaze.

“Love _you_ ,” he insisted with quiet determination.

Jaskier gaped at him. He knew Geralt loved him--of course he knew; the man showed it in a hundred different ways--but to hear the actual words…

A tiny, hard lump in Jaskier’s heart, the only remnant from a long-ago mountaintop, a nugget of resentment Jaskier hadn’t even known was still there, cracked open. A slow warmth seeped out, spread through his body, made his toes tingle, his fingertips, his lips, his eyes. It would have been a breathtakingly beautiful moment if they didn’t have an old dog begging for pats at their feet and weren’t currently huddled in the kitchen of a bastard and in very real danger of having their balls cut off.

Geralt’s gaze landed on the dog. Fortunately Jaskier knew the man well enough to anticipate his sudden attempt to tilt into petting range. Jaskier hoisted him back up, knowing they’d both go down if Geralt got that low. Later Jaskier would reflect that the twin noises of disappointment from dog and Witcher were likely the most adorable sounds he’d heard _in his life_.

Jaskier pressed a kiss to the corner of Geralt’s mouth. He let it linger, pouring into it every ounce of tenderness he felt for the man in his embrace. The gesture seemed to mollify the Witcher, and he began to shuffle forward again.

“Let’s try that confession again when you’re sober,” Jaskier told him. “Preferably at a nice inn with candles and scented oils.”

Geralt hummed an agreement as they banged their way out through the kitchen door. In the next moment, Jaskier had empty arms as Geralt threw himself across Roach’s neck. The mare mouthed at every inch of her master she could reach, and Jaskier had to struggle to get either of them to cooperate in their escape.

“Come on, darling,” he said to Geralt as he lifted the man’s foot to a stirrup. “Mount while you hug.”

Geralt took to the suggestion eagerly and stayed draped over Roach for the duration of Jaskier shoving his arse into the saddle. Jaskier pulled his lax foot from the stirrup, replaced it with his own, and swung himself up behind Geralt. He wormed a hand between Geralt’s stomach and Roach’s back, dug out the reins, and then squeezed his knees into her sides. She responded beautifully, stepping forward at a slow walk and following his lead when he guided them close to the manor walls. They turned the corner and crossed the empty side yard; as they neared the front of the manor, Jaskier plucked one of the wall torches from its bracket. Holding torch, reins, and floppy Witcher wasn’t easy, but he managed. He urged Roach into a faster trot as they left the shadows of the manor and turned toward the dirt drive. When they reached the first of the trees lining the entryway, Jaskier pulled her up.

He looked back at the manor house; in one of the upstairs windows, a candle burned. Above it a stone-faced mayor glared down at them, and Jaskier grinned. Holding the man’s gaze, Jaskier raised the torch and brushed the flames against the reaching branches of the tree. The dry and dead autumn leaves caught in a rush, and he watched in satisfaction as the mayor’s scowl turned to open-mouthed horror.

After that, Roach needed little urging to tear down the drive at a gallop. Jaskier kept his torch aloft the whole way, igniting the entire line of stately trees. The brook dividing the drive from the road would keep the fire from spreading to the town, and given the way the packed-dirt drive widened in front of the manor, he doubted it would even reach the house itself. But the rest of the mayor’s guard would have a tough time following them. As they clopped across the little bridge, Jaskier dropped the torch, and he laughed as he heard the wet wood begin to sizzle and pop.

In the dead of night, the streets were blessedly empty, and they were pulling up to the Hare and Swan just as the first shouts started up from the other side of the town. Jaskier jumped down, tossed the reins over the hitching post, and squeezed Geralt’s knee.

“Back in a moment,” he told Roach, and he dashed into the inn.

Edouard stopped his pacing behind the counter the moment Jaskier burst through the door. Only a few patrons lingered in the ground-floor tavern, all too deep in their cups to notice the growing commotion outside.

“I’m afraid I can’t stay, after all,” Jaskier panted to Edouard as he tugged the inn key from his breast pocket and slapped it on the bar.

Edouard nodded. “I guessed this much.” He reached beneath the counter and pulled out the pack Jaskier had left in his room and his lute, already tucked away in its case.

Jaskier laughed as he collected his belongings. He set them on the floor for just a moment, just long enough to reach across the bar, grab two large hands up in his own, and press several fervent kisses to Edouard’s knuckles.

“You’re a blessing, my friend,” he declared as he straightened.

To his delighted surprise, the big man’s cheeks flushed rosy pink. The innkeeper shook his head with a fond smile, then disentangled his hands to shoo Jaskier away.

“Gods be with you!” he called as Jaskier made his escape.

Jaskier pirouetted and offered him a deep bow as he backed out the door. “And with you! We’ll meet again soon!”

Back out in the dark night, Jaskier could see the glow of the fire beyond the town’s rooftops. He strapped his pack and lute to Roach’s saddle as quickly as he could while also ensuring they were secured; if anything dropped, they would not be going back for it. He hauled himself back into the saddle and steered Roach toward the road out of town. When they reached a crossroads at a gallop, he turned her down the right fork at a whim.

Somewhere down the road, they would find a friendlier village. Perhaps one with a nice inn and a little shop that sold candles and scented oils.

Jaskier huffed as Geralt suddenly flopped backward against his chest. The man burrowed his face into Jaskier’s throat with a contented hum and was soon lightly snoring. With a smile, Jaskier leaned his cheek against his lover’s messy crop of hair.

Perhaps a village with a decent barber as well.


	3. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to post this here because it seemed too self-indulgent, but... actually I don't have an excuse. You'll just have to forgive me. :D
> 
> Another Tumblr prompt reminded me of this fic, so have some bonus dopey Geralt.

When the first promise of dawn lit the eastern sky, Jaskier steered Roach off the main road and onto a hunter’s track that cut through a meadow. He was mostly certain they weren’t being pursued, and his back was aching from holding onto Geralt. The awkward angle of Geralt’s neck probably wasn’t doing him any favors, and, of course, there was poor Roach to consider. She had carried them both for several hours without a snort or huff of complaint, but Jaskier could feel how her sides were heaving.

A little copse of trees at the far end of the field would provide a bit of cover, and the grass beneath the branches was bare of the frost that glittered over the rest of the landscape. He ruled out a fire just in case (he’d probably set enough things ablaze for one night), and if bedrolls and blankets were going to have to suffice, he’d just as soon they not be damp.

Geralt stirred against his shoulder as Jaskier reined Roach in. He raised his head with what seemed to be an enormous amount of effort and blinked at their surroundings.

“Where’s t’ dog?” he mumbled, and Jaskier laughed.

“Still not among the sober, I see.” With his hands on Geralt’s shoulders, Jaskier eased him down to drape himself over Roach’s neck again. “That’s it. Give Roachie another nice big hug.”

Geralt hummed and buried his face in Roach’s mane. He seemed stable enough, so Jaskier took the opportunity to dismount with a groan and stretch his sore back and legs. Then he dug out the apple he’d had at the bottom of his pack as a reunion present and finally presented it to its intended recipient. Roach munched it happily, and Jaskier stroked her nose.

“Wonderful, darling girl. Give me just a moment to settle things, and I’ll get the dopey muscle man off your back.”

His fingers were a bit stiff from the autumn chill and the reins, but untying bedrolls for a quick camp had long since become second nature to him. Once the bedding was arranged to his satisfaction, he placed a hand on Geralt’s thigh and shook gently.

“Come on, love. Let’s get you laid out. We’ve been riding for hours, and who knows how long you spent kneeling in that musty cellar?”

The rumble he got in response was vaguely protesting in nature and rose to an admittedly adorable whine when he tugged at Geralt’s hand. Geralt didn’t so much dismount as lean further and further until he tumbled into Jaskier’s arms, and Jaskier didn’t so much lay him gently down as let him fall in the general vicinity of the bedrolls. Jaskier huffed another laugh as he bent to remove his boots, and then he did the same for Geralt. Once he had relieved Roach of her tack and saddle, he wiggled his way in among the blankets and maneuvered and shoved until Geralt was draped over him, drooling onto his shoulder.

“There we are, dearest,” he said, stroking down Geralt’s back. “You can go back to sleep now.”

“Dearest,” Geralt repeated into the fabric of Jaskier’s doublet.

“Yes,” Jaskier murmured into his hair. “Because you are more dear to me than anything, love.”

“Love.” And hearing the word slip softly from Geralt’s lips for the second time that night warmed Jaskier through until autumn seemed a distant memory.

“Love,” he agreed, kissing Geralt’s brow. “Lover.”

“Lovest?” Geralt asked with a dozy lilt.

“Oh, gods, I am never letting you live this down,” Jaskier laughed, and then he pulled his sweet Witcher closer. “Yes, dear heart. Absolutely the most lovest.”

Geralt's next breath was the tiniest of contented sighs; the one after was a considerably less tiny snore. The sound was so familiar that Jaskier felt himself dropping off almost immediately. It wasn't exactly the cozy night at Edouard's inn he'd hoped for, but it was everything he wanted nonetheless.

(When Geralt woke a few hours later with a wicked hangover and a characteristic scowl, Jaskier soothed him with a cool cloth around his neck, kisses to his temple, and a promise that the next time they saw a dog, Geralt could pet them all he wished.)


	4. Bonus Content: Doggo!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anonymous Tumblr user said they were sad that the dog hadn't gone with Jaskier and Geralt.
> 
> Sad reader? Not on my watch.
> 
> **Content warning for the emetophobic (nongraphic mentions).**

“We should move on,” Geralt mumbled into Jaskier’s thigh for the fourth time in an hour.

Jaskier suppressed his sigh and focused instead on smoothing a hand down his lover’s back. “There’s not much point in putting you on horse when you’re just going to have to jump off to vomit in the bushes.” He bent down to press a kiss to Geralt’s temple. “No one’s after us, love,” he added in a gentle voice.

When he straightened, a thin shaft of sunlight replaced his shadow, and Geralt winced. Jaskier carefully shifted them to a slightly different angle and moved the cold cloth he’d draped over Geralt’s neck to cover his eyes.

“You set the man’s house on fire,” Geralt groused, “and you don’t think he’ll come?”

“First off, it wasn’t his house. And secondly...” Jaskier petted through Geralt’s butchered hair and frowned at the way his proud wolf curled in a tight, trembling ball as the poison left his system. “Secondly, he absolutely deserved it.”

The petting seemed to settle his Witcher, and Jaskier hoped he’d drop off for another short nap and wake up feeling more himself, but then Geralt suddenly tensed. He shoved himself up from Jaskier’s lap, and the bard wrapped an arm around his waist, prepared to support him through another round of retching. He wasn’t prepared for Geralt to stagger to his feet, and only a fast reaction on his part kept them both from toppling over.

“Someone’s coming,” Geralt panted, leaning against Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Horses?” Jaskier asked, scanning the main road. He didn’t like their chances with Geralt feeling so ill and Roach still recovering from her night ride.

Geralt shook his head, and Jaskier let himself relax a bit. “If it’s just someone on foot...”

Geralt shook his head again, then leaned forward, ear turned toward the sound. “Animal.”

“Fox maybe? Rabbits?” Jaskier didn’t like how sweaty and pale he still looked. “Come on, love, why don’t you sit? I’m sure it’s nothing.”

But Geralt’s focus never left the road, and after a moment, he snapped a quick “Fuck” and lurched toward the branch holding Roach’s saddle.

“What?” Jaskier said, hurrying forward to help. “What is it?”

“A dog. Could be a tracking hound.”

“Shit.” Jaskier bit his lip before taking the saddle from Geralt’s arms and taking it to Roach. “All right. Come on. We’ll get you up and-”

His words were cut off by a sudden bark, not the baying of a hound scenting its prey, but a short sound, soft and joyful. He turned just in time to see the old dog from the mayor’s kitchen bound out of the tall grass, and in the next moment, he had muddy paw prints all over his trousers as the dog greeted him with a furiously wagging tail. Jaskier set aside Roach’s saddle with a delighted laugh, not caring a bit for the dirt (they were Geralt’s trousers anyway), and bent to give the dog a thorough ear scratching.

“Jaskier...” Geralt warned.

At the sound of his voice, the dog dashed toward Geralt, and Jaskier had to leap after him, catching Geralt as the dog’s enthusiasm nearly knocked him off his unsteady feet. He helped Geralt sit in the grass, and the dog went absolutely wild licking every inch of the Witcher’s face. Geralt made some effort to push him away, but Jaskier could see the corner of his lips ticking upward.

“Remember our friend from the kitchen?” Jaskier laughed. “He certainly remembers you!”

Geralt smoothed his hands over the dog’s ears and neck, which sent the lovely creature into paroxysms of joy and set his whole back half wiggling. “He could still have been sent to track us.”

Jaskier laughed again. “This charming fellow? He’s the opposite of a guard dog. He was _thrilled_ when I broke into his master’s house.” He knelt beside Geralt to receive his shares of licks and wiggles. “Weren’t you?” he crooned. “Weren’t you thrilled to see someone other than your awful master?”

The dog answered with another soft woof, and from the corner of his eye, Jaskier could see Geralt slowly releasing the tension from his shoulders. “He doesn’t look mistreated.”

And no, Jaskier had to admit, he didn’t. He had a lovely shining coat, bright eyes, and not a mark on him. “That just means the man treats his dogs better than he treated you,” he countered. “So. Still a right bastard.”

After a few quick turns, the dog settled between them, tucking his tail over his nose and closing his eyes with a sleepy huff. Jaskier continued stroking a hand down his back. “Wore himself out looking for us, poor thing.” Then he shot Geralt a grin. “What shall we call him?”

Geralt lowered his head to his knees with a weary sigh. “Jaskier...”

“Yes, darling?” The bard got to his feet, retrieved the dampened cloth from the ground, and rearranged it against the back of his lover’s neck. Then he knelt behind him, snuggling close and wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist. “We can’t very well take him back,” he pointed out with a kiss to Geralt’s hair. “And we can’t just leave him here. He’ll follow us.”

“Not if I tie him to a tree,” Geralt grumbled.

“Oh, please,” Jaskier scoffed. “One doleful look and he’d be cuddled in your arms.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Jaskier grinned. “Because it works for me.” He kissed Geralt again, then turned to appraise the sleeping dog. “He’s a very distinguished-looking gentleman. Maybe we could call him Viscount. I’ll send him back to Lettenhove with a letter that says I’ve been cursed into a dog and be done with it all for good.”

Geralt snorted. “Just Viscount? Not Baron or Duke?”

“Duke’s not bad. A bit cliche for a dog, but it’s noble and suitably monosyllabic for the Witchers among us.” Jaskier laid a gentle hand on the dog’s scruff. “What do you think, Duke?”

To his surprise, the dog opened one eye and gave a quick wag of his tail before falling back into a doze. Jaskier laughed. “All right then.”

(In his chambers in Oxenfurt that winter, with Duke napping on the hearth, Jaskier read a letter from Edouard detailing the mayor’s anger at the loss of his dog, not a hunter or tracker but a valuable pedigreed sire worth quite a hefty sum. Jaskier could only laugh when he learned that the dog’s name was, in fact, Duke.

Duke raised his head at the sound, and Jaskier went to the hearth to kneel beside him. The dog arched happily under his scratches. “Serves him right,” Jaskier told him. “Don’t you think? He did try to take my wolf, after all.”)


	5. Bonus Content: Love Confession Take 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tall_forest_trees asked if I could add a bit about Jaskier cutting Geralt's hair to make it look better. This started as that and then turned into another love confession. I don't know. I've lost control of this story. Someday I will stop adding random bits to it. But it is not this day.

They didn't make it to a village with a barber that night; in fact, they didn't make it to a village at all. At first, Jaskier had been concerned on Geralt's behalf after the poison had left him so miserably hungover. But he seemed none the worse for the afternoon's ride, and so after some food and a quick wash in a nearby stream, Jaskier was able to focus on the urgent matter he could no longer ignore: the absolute chaos of Geralt's drying hair.

"It's fine," Geralt protested as Jaskier sat him down on a log near the fire.

"You only say that because you don't have to look at yourself," Jaskier retorted as he retrieved the scissors from his sewing kit. "Now be still. We've only got a bit of daylight left."

The still-damp locks in his hands were brutally short; he could barely sift his fingers through them before they slipped away. He had to remind himself that it was just hair and that it would regrow before the clenched feeling in his chest could reach his throat. He hummed to himself as he began to snip at the most uneven patches, and he smiled when Geralt's shoulders relaxed at the sound.

Jaskier had always loved Geralt's hair, had used any excuse to wash it, comb it, braid it; it had been an allowed intimacy between them long (so very long) before they had become lovers. He hadn't known why Geralt permitted it in the beginning, but he understood now that his wolf found the sensation of fingers on his scalp soothing, that it eased his mind toward a quiet state conducive to meditation. Decades of experience led Jaskier's hands through patterns of motion that he knew would leave Geralt's eyes soft and half-lidded, even with the addition of the scissors' clicking.

Decades of experience also let him notice the slight tense of Geralt's neck that meant he was going to turn his head at a disastrous moment.

He flattened his palms against Geralt's scalp and held his head steady. "Don't even think about it."

Geralt huffed, but his muscles relaxed. "Where's Duke?"

Jaskier glanced into the surrounding trees where he could make out a lump moving through the piles of fallen leaves. A wagging tail popped into view for a moment, like a sailor scanning the horizon, before it disappeared back amid the foliage. "Frolicking. He seems convinced he's still a puppy, and gods bless him for it."

"Hmm. As long as he stays out of trouble."

Jaskier laughed. "Oh, this is how it's going to be, isn't it? I resigned myself ages ago to always being second in your heart to Roach, but now I'm going to drop to third. Never mind that I'm the one who grooms you." He snipped a few more loose ends for emphasis. "Never mind that I write you songs. Bandage your wounds. Save you from sociopaths. Provide frequent orgasms..."

One of Geralt's hands came up to still Jaskier's fingers, and he looked back over his shoulder. "Thank you, Jaskier." He said it in such a soft, sincere voice that Jaskier just had to bend down and kiss him.

"For the orgasms?" he said once they parted. "I have to admit that one's a bit selfish on my part."

Geralt smiled. "For coming for me. I don't remember if I said it before."

"You didn't." 

He hadn't. He'd said something else entirely as they'd stumbled their way out of the mayor's manor. And only Jaskier and Duke had heard it.

Stepping over the log, Jaskier knelt in front of Geralt to judge the evenness of his hair from the front. Golden eyes watched him as he fiddled and fussed until finally Jaskier set aside the scissors. He stayed where he was though, his back warmed by the fire and his thumbs rubbing small circles on Geralt's knees.

"What is it?"

At the gentle question, Jaskier raised his gaze to Geralt's. He felt his lips quirk in a rueful half-smile at the fluttering that had taken up residence in his stomach. He could not say anything. He could let it go. He could stand and put the scissors away. He could grab his lute and begin composing an epic ballad of his own bravery. He could laugh and tease his wolf and kiss him and coax him to bed. Geralt clearly didn't remember the words he'd let slip, and there was no need to drag them out into the open air when everything was so lovely between them.

But when had Jaskier's mouth ever obeyed his brain over his heart?

"You told me you loved me," he murmured.

Geralt's eyes widened for the tiniest of moments, just a flicker, and Jaskier shook his head, swallowing around his suddenly tight throat.

"You don't have to say it now," he rushed to add. "You don't have to say it ever. I'm so... It means so much that you let me say it to you. That's all I need, I swear it, Geralt, for the rest of my days. To say those words and know that you hear them."

When a thin furrow creased Geralt's brow, Jaskier felt the fluttering in his belly turn to churning. He cupped his hand against Geralt's jaw. "I know you care for me, love," he hurried on. "I know it. You show me in a hundred ways. I use the words, but that's not your way, and it's _fine_. It's more than fine; it's you, and I would never change a single thing about-"

"Jaskier," Geralt cut him off. He raised his hand to cover Jaskier's fingers so they pressed into his warm skin. The firelight burned in his eyes. "I love you."

When he'd said it before with hazy eyes and a sluggish tongue, Jaskier had felt a slow, tingling warmth spread through him.

Meeting his lover's clear gaze and hearing the words in his strong, steady voice felt like being struck by lightning.

He didn't realize slow tears were leaking down his cheeks until Geralt brushed them away with his thumb and a troubled look. Jaskier pulled back from his hands, needing just a moment to breathe. He chuckled wetly as he swiped his wrist across his eyes.

"Shit." He tried to laugh again to hide the way his voice trembled. "Sorry. I... I guess I wasn't as ready to hear that as I thought I was."

"Do you... ?" Geralt faltered, looking pained. "Should I not have said it?"

"Oh, gods," Jaskier choked, and he threw himself into his lover's arms, clinging to him as though they would both fall apart, as if their embrace was the only thing keeping them tethered to the world and all its pains and glories. "It's just... so much. It's so much. All these years and I just... I don't know how to hold it all."

"Then I'll hold it with you," Geralt murmured, and he held Jaskier so tightly, tighter than he ever had before. "We'll hold it together."

Jaskier could only nod with his face buried in Geralt's shoulder. They stayed there until the day's last light faded, until Jaskier's too-human knees began to ache, until a soft whimper and a questioning paw at his waist made Jaskier laugh and pull back to smile at the little dog beside them. Geralt reached out a hand with a sweet smile of his own and stroked Duke's ears with glaringly obvious affection.

"It's all right, boy. We're all right."

"More than all right." Jaskier rose from his knees to plop himself into Geralt's lap. "We're magnificent! We're heroes and artists and lovers! I'm going to serenade the stars until they weep in envy in their solitary skies! I'm going to sing the sun awake like a bird born to take wing on a fragrant wind! I'm going to..."

He let out a yelp when Geralt stood and dumped him onto the hard ground. "I'm going to piss," the Witcher announced and walked off into the woods.

"You terrible bastard!" Jaskier yelled, still on his back in the dirt. "I love you!"

A moment's silence and then... "I love you too!" came the echoed reply.

And that really left Jaskier with no choice but to cover his face with his hands and shout gleeful obscenities into the night sky. Duke joined in with a joyful howl, while Roach huffed reproachfully. But above it all, from beyond the trees, Jaskier could hear his lover laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I get shy about responding to comments, but I am so grateful for every single one. (Kudos are great too! In fact, if you read it at all, I'm pleased as punch!)
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at girl-in-red-crossing.


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